


the best part of waking up

by countthestars



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Step-Brothers, psuedo incest vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 11:50:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7437067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countthestars/pseuds/countthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Is it weird that I want to kiss you?” Harry had asked, his face so close to Liam's that he could feel the warmth of Harry's breath, smell the wine he'd snuck from his mum's glass. “Since, like, our parents are dating, or whatever.”</p>
<p>It was, a little, but before Liam could tell Harry that he didn't mind, the bloke had come bursting in, ruining the moment. Harry had sprung back, pawing at his fringe to fix it even though Liam hadn't gotten to run his fingers through it the way he wanted to. </p>
<p>The next time he'd been alone with Harry had been shortly after the engagement, which hadn't stopped Harry from giving Liam an obvious once-over. “Looks like we're going to be brothers,” he'd said, in the same tone as someone commenting on the weather.</p>
<p>“Step-brothers,” Liam corrected, fussing with his curls.</p>
<p>(or, step-brothers lirry)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the best part of waking up

**Author's Note:**

> whelp. here it is, after months in the making. warnings for pseudo incest vibes/guilt/potential dubcon? liam and harry are 19/18 respectively and fully consensual partners, there's just a lot of, y'know, shame and stuff. 
> 
> big thanks to karen and ollie for beta'ing & hand holding - could not have finished this without you!! any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> title from the folgers coffee theme song :)

Being back home is… weird.

The house feels smaller than Liam remembered, like maybe the walls have grown closer together in his absence. Or maybe it's the way Harry's sprawled across the sofa, his lanky limbs taking up a cushion and a half as he frowns down at his mobile.

He looks up when Liam drops his bag on the floor with a muffled thump, and for a long moment the only sound in the room is the smack of Harry's mouth as he chews on a piece of gum. “Liam,” he says, once the silence has dragged on a beat too long to feel comfortable. His eyes drag down Liam's body in a clear appraisal before flicking back up to his face, but all he says is a neutral, “how was Manchester, then?”

“All right,” Liam offers, then stalls on the conversation. “Uh, you know. Manchester's... Manchester.” Through sheer force of will, he manages not to wince at his own awkwardness.

Harry just nods, gaze already dropping back to his mobile. “Sick,” he says absently. There are a few flyaway curls poking out from beneath his beanie, and he's wider across the shoulders than he was the last time Liam saw him. The fabric of his thin t-shirt pulls tight over his collarbones, and Liam drops his gaze to his feet.

He's saved from further conversational fumbling by his dad shuffling through the door, arms full of box. The boot of the car is stuffed with identical boxes, all of Liam's worldly belongings packed up inside. It was sort of amazing, the amount of things Liam could fit inside his dorm in Manchester. How his whole life, when treated like a game of Tetris, could be slotted into the boot of a car, with only a few odds and ends spilling into the backseat.

“Anne's turned your room into a home office, so you'll be bunking with Harry,” his dad says, stooping down to set the box on the floor. The _if you stayed in Manchester for the summer like we planned, this wouldn't have been an issue_ is left implied. “We got Nicola's old loft bed set up, so it's like bunk beds. It'll feel just like summer camp.”

Harry doesn't look up, but Liam can see the way the corner of his mouth twitches, the hint of a dimple in his cheek. “Dream come true, isn't it, Liam?”

It's just for the summer, Liam reminds himself. He just has to make it through a summer of Harry's knowing smirks and general lack of boundaries and god awful snoring, and come fall he'll be back at uni. It's fine.

“I'm going to go grab some more boxes,” Liam says to no one in particular, and makes his escape out the door.

-

His parents' divorce had been pretty clean, as far as divorces go. There had been a lot of harshly whispered conversations behind closed doors and smiles that didn't reach his mum's or dad's eyes, but no late night shouting matches or anything horrible like that. When things finally culminated in them sitting Liam and his sisters down and explaining in gentle tones that it wasn't their fault, they mustn't think that, but they'd decided their marriage couldn't be repaired, it was more of a relief than a shock.

No, the shock had come years later, when after a long stretch of bachelorhood, Liam's dad had announced that he was seeing someone, and it was serious.

Liam can vividly remember the number of peas on the tines of his fork, the way he'd slowly lowered it back to his plate as Ruth said, “What do you mean, it's serious?”

His dad's stare was unflinching. “I mean that week after next, we're all going to have dinner together so you can meet Anne and her kids. It's important, and I want all three of you to be there.”

Later, Liam would learn that serious really meant that his dad had an engagement ring stuffed at the back of his sock drawer, and every intention to get down on one knee for the second time in his life. Later, Liam would realize that dinner with Anne and her kids was a dress rehearsal for the rest of his life, or at least, until this marriage eventually crumbled, too.

Much later, he'd regret meeting Anne's son's flirtatious smile with one of his own across the table at the restaurant. He'd regret the way he mumbled 'me too' when Harry announced in a loud voice that he needed to use the loo, excusing himself from the table.

Most of all, Liam regrets the bloke that shoved his way into the loo five minutes after he and Harry had. Harry was a sweet talker with an easy smile, even as a fresh faced sixteen-year-old. He'd talked Liam against the bathroom wall in no time at all, the cold tile hard against Liam's back and Harry warm against his front.

“Is it weird that I want to kiss you?” Harry had asked, his face so close to Liam's that he could feel the warmth of Harry's breath, smell the wine he'd snuck from his mum's glass. “Since, like, our parents are dating, or whatever.”

It was, a little, but before Liam could tell Harry that he didn't mind, the bloke had come bursting in, ruining the moment. Harry had sprung back, pawing at his fringe to fix it even though Liam hadn't gotten to run his fingers through it the way he wanted to.

The next time he'd been alone with Harry had been shortly after the engagement, which hadn't stopped Harry from giving Liam an obvious once-over. “Looks like we're going to be brothers,” he'd said, in the same tone as someone commenting on the weather.

“Step-brothers,” Liam corrected, fussing with his curls. He'd finally given up on straightening his hair, but he felt weird standing next to Harry, like he was trying too hard.

“Step-brothers,” Harry agreed, and reached up to tug on a strand of Liam's hair until it was pulled taut before letting it go, watching with interest as it sprung back into a neat corkscrew.

Liam shaved his head shortly after, and told himself it was a fresh start for uni.

-

They end up taking half his things to the basement, still packed into boxes. Anne pulls Liam aside under the pretense of showing him the new sheets she bought just for his loft bed, but as they're a plain white, he's not sure what all the fuss is all about, until she clasps his shoulder with one hand, squeezing gently.

“Thank you,” she says, like Liam's done something special. “For being so understanding about sharing a room with Harry. He's really looking forward to having you back home for the summer, even if he won't say it. It's good for him to have you around. He really looks up to you, Liam.”

Liam manages to mumble a reply, ducking his head so he doesn't have to meet Anne's sincere gaze. He doesn't think about his almost kiss with Harry, back when they were both still kids who didn't know any better.

Liam knows better now, and anyway, it's like Anne said. Harry looks up to him.

It's on Liam to set a good example.

-

The bedroom feels cramped when Liam hovers in the doorway later that night, despite most of his things living in the basement. Harry's stretched out on his stomach on the bottom bunk, doing something on his laptop that seems to involve a lot of concentration, if the way he's biting his lower lip is anything to go by. He finally releases it, only for his tongue to dart out a second later, licking over his lip before drawing it back between his teeth.

Something abruptly gets caught in Liam's throat, and he coughs a bit too loudly to clear it. Harry glances up, catching Liam's eye over the edge of his laptop.

“All right, bro?”

“Fine,” Liam says. When Harry doesn't say any else, just keeps on staring at him with an unreadable expression, Liam clears his throat again. “I'm just gonna...” Trailing off, he gestures to the loft above Harry's bed.

Harry shrugs one shoulder, muscles shifting beneath his white tee. “Don't let me stop you.”

The wooden rungs groan a little under Liam's weight as he climbs, and his head is only a few feet from the ceiling once he reaches the top. He has to crawl along the mattress to get himself situated, and there's more creaking as he finally settles, rolling onto his back and resting his head on the pillow.

Above him, the ceiling is still littered with the glow-in-the-dark stick-on stars he put up forever ago. They're a dull, faded green in the brightness of the overhead light. Liam counts them, just the way he used to as a kid whenever he couldn't fall asleep, but some must've fallen off, because he comes up short.

After a while, Harry climbs out of bed, stretching his arms over his head before shuffling out of the room. Liam can hear the low whine of the bathroom door across the hall as Harry closes it almost all the way, but it doesn't click shut. While Harry putters around, turning the faucet on and off, brushing his teeth, Liam squirms his way beneath the duvet, ignoring the way the loft squeaks in protest.

There are more sounds, the kind Liam should be used to, living in a crowded dorm for a year, but it's somehow _different_ , knowing it's Harry on the other side of the hall. It's only after the loud flush of the toilet that Harry comes back, flicking off the overhead light and shutting the bedroom door firmly behind him.

It takes Liam's eyes a second to adjust to the sudden dark, but Harry's left his laptop open and the glare of the screen casts a blueish light around the room. From his vantage point, Liam can only see Harry's top half, the dark of his hair and the pale expanse of his shoulders when he peels his shirt over his head. Tossing it to the floor, he goes for his flies next, and the rasp of Liam's breathing isn't loud enough to cover the sound of Harry's zipper easing open.

Liam rolls onto his side, fixing his gaze on the far wall. There's a crooked _Lord of the Rings_ poster tacked to it, and it could be a trick of the light, but Frodo's eyes are a freakish, unnatural blue. Harry's trousers join his shirt on the pile of dirty clothes while Liam fails to win his staring contest, eyes watering before he blinks the slight sting away.

When his vision clears, it's just in time to see Harry hook his thumb beneath the waistband of his pants, sliding the material down past his hips before Liam snaps his eyes shut. He can't hear anything besides the rush of blood in his ears until Harry climbs into bed a moment later, the mattress creaking beneath him.

The stars on the ceiling are glowing a faint green now, and Liam counts them one by one. It's fine, he reasons with himself. He's no stranger to nudity; he saw his fair share of other people's bits at uni, didn't he?

Harry's mattress creaks again, and then he says, voice soft, “Liam?”

Liam clears his throat. “Yeah?”

A pause. Then: “You okay? You sound like you're about to have an asthma attack, or something.”

Liam chokes on nothing. “What? No. I'm fine. It's fine.”

There's another, longer pause this time. “Well, if you're sure,” Harry says finally.

“Yeah, no, it's just--” Liam swallows thickly. “Do you, uh, when you sleep, that is, are you more comfortable – it's just, we have to share this room, and--”

Harry's laugh is breathy, more a huff of air than anything. “I usually sleep naked, if that's what you're trying to get at.” He's clearly amused when he adds, “Is that gonna be a problem for you?”

Liam grits his teeth against the _obviously_ that wants to escape. “Nope, that's just fine,” he manages to get out, sounding almost normal.

It takes him a long time to fall asleep, especially when Harry's quiet breathing turns into loud, open mouthed snoring. He doesn't remember drifting off, but he must've, because he wakes up early with gritty eyes and teeth sore from grinding them all night.

As silently as he can – which isn't all that silent, what with the groaning wood beneath him, warped with age – Liam climbs down from the loft, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Harry's sprawled out on his back, his sheets thankfully covering everything below the waist, though there's a thin strip of dark hair that starts just below his bellybutton still visible. Averting his gaze, Liam pulls on his trainers, stopping by the bathroom long enough to splash cold water on his face and brush his teeth before slipping out the front door.

The neighborhood is just starting to wake up and the street is mostly deserted, which is Liam's favorite time to run. He's forgotten his headphones, too busy trying to make a quick escape, so instead he focuses on the rhythm of his feet, the steady _slap slap_ of his soles against the pavement. He runs for what feels like ages, until his muscles are screaming in protest and his chest is burning. Slowing to a walk, he laces his fingers behind his head, forcing air into his lungs, his sweaty t-shirt clinging to his skin.

By the time he circles his way back home, he's almost caught his breath. He lets himself back inside through the sliding glass door off the kitchen, and abruptly loses it again.

Harry's sat at the kitchen table wearing nothing but his pants. Since Liam's been at uni, Harry's gained at least an inch or two of height, and lost the last of the puppy fat that used to cling to his cheeks and tummy. It's kind of a lot to deal with, all that toned muscle and skin on display, but that's not what makes Liam nearly swallow his tongue.

Harry's eating a banana, and instead of pausing to chew to like a normal person, he just slides it further into his mouth, holding eye contact with Liam the entire time.

“Um,” Liam says, suddenly aware that his nipples are visible through his damp t-shirt. “You. That's. Is that not a choking hazard?”

Harry's eyes widen for a second, and then he finally lowers the banana, gurgling out a noise that sounds halfway between a laugh and a sob. He might actually be choking, and Liam watches with increasing worry as Harry's cheeks turn red and he struggles to swallow.

After a few wet coughs, Harry manages to get himself under control, still wheezing a bit but no longer in immediate danger of death by banana. It feels like for once in his life, Liam should have the upperhand, but then Harry says, “Your _face_ , Liam. Oh, fuck, if you could see yourself right now. That is _priceless_.” And suddenly Liam's the one blushing.

“Right, well. You, uh, seem to have things sorted out, so. I'm just gonna go take a shower.”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “You look like you've worked up a bit of a sweat there.” It's an innocent enough comment, except for the way Harry's mouth looks when he says it. Liam is almost positive he's doing it on purpose. “Well, I'll be here if you need anything,” Harry adds when Liam doesn't reply, bringing the banana back to his lips for another bite in the quickest rebound Liam's ever seen.

_What would I need from you?_ he almost asks, but manages to choke back the rhetorical question just in time.

He doesn't like admitting he's afraid of what Harry might answer.

-

For a record twenty-four hours, Liam manages to co-exist in the same space as Harry without embarrassing himself. When Harry strips off before bed, Liam curls on his side, facing the wall, and breathes carefully through his nose.

By morning, he's feeling so confident, he accepts Harry's offer to play FIFA, carefully settling on the opposite side of the sofa. Harry, of course, lounges dead center, but the sofa's big enough that they aren't touching. Initially, at least.

Subtle is not a word that Liam would normally use to describe anything about Harry, but it's the only one that fits the way Harry creeps closer and closer, until before Liam's even realized it, they're pressed hip to hip on the sofa. Harry makes a sleepy little noise, and then his head is tipping onto Liam's shoulder, his curls tickling Liam's jaw.

“Um,” Liam says, immediately going rigid. If he had noticed Harry edging closer, he would have removed himself from the situation before it became a problem. Now, it would be obvious and weird, with the way Harry is all warm and solid against his side. It is very much a problem.

“Stop that,” Harry says, rubbing his cheek against Liam's sleeve. “'m trying to nap.”

“I thought we were playing FIFA.” On screen, Harry's player is running in lazy circles around the pitch, like Harry's fallen asleep with his thumb pressed against the joystick.

“We were,” comes Harry's mumbled reply. “Now we're napping.”

“That's not really--”

“Shh,” Harry says, and hitches one leg over Liam's thigh. Liam has to make a conscious effort to hold his hips still, because the combination of Harry's hair smelling like Liam's shampoo, and Harry's thigh sliding along Liam's, makes his brain short circuit a bit, his blood rushing to a very sensitive region. Ignorant of Liam's agony, or possibly just indifferent, Harry wraps his arm over Liam's stomach, his fingertips slipping under the hem of Liam's t-shirt until they're touching bare skin.

Liam's shiver is completely involuntary as Harry nuzzles his face into Liam's neck. There's no way Harry can't feel the way Liam's pulse is beating a wild tattoo just beneath his jaw, but all he does is rub his thumb in soothing little circles over the skin of Liam's hip. Well, he probably intends the slow, gentle swipes of his thumb to be soothing, but it kind of makes Liam want to turn inside out. His palms are slick with sweat, and he rubs the hand not trapped between his body and Harry's over the fabric of his trousers to dry it.

If Harry is jostled by the movement, he gives no indication, melting further into Liam's side. Having a heart attack because your fit step-brother's draped himself all over you is a mortifying way to die, but at this point Liam would prefer death's cold embrace. At least then, his suffering would end.

Liam doesn't die, but he does, somehow, manage to fall asleep. He only cottons on to this fact when the scrape of someone slotting their key into the front door and shoving it open pulls him back to consciousness, but he's so warm and comfortable that opening his eyes is much too difficult a task.

There's the ringing click of heels against hard wood, and then a low voice murmurs, “Oh, Geoff, look – they've fallen asleep all cuddled up. And you were worried Liam wouldn't get on with Harry!”

Liam's dad grunts and mumbles something to Anne too soft for Liam to catch, and that's when Liam figures out the warm weight anchoring him to the sofa is, in fact, Harry. In retrospect, he should have realized that sooner, given how he drifted off, but his brain is still sluggish with sleep, and thinking is hard. Harry's practically crawled all the way into Liam's lap, snoring softly into his neck, which at least has the fortunate effect of hiding the way Liam's dick is half-chubbed up in his trousers.

Liam waits for the click of Anne's heels to disappear down the hall before he extracts himself from Harry's octopus grip and flees to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face.

After that, Liam makes a point to spend his time playing FIFA with Andy, who has never once given Liam an awkward erection.

-

Things are going – well, not great, exactly, but not terrible, either; sort of middle of the road, if Liam's being honest – when the bathroom breaks. There're leaking pipes and water damage, and his dad says, “Well, we've been wanting to renovate it for ages anyway,” which is how Liam finds himself roped into prying cracked tiles off the wall with a chisel. The whole thing really throws a wrench into his plans to avoid Harry for the rest of summer by staying out of the house as much as possible. It's also surprisingly hard work.

“Why aren't you helping, then?” he huffs at Harry, pausing long enough to swipe the sweat off his forehead with his arm. Harry's leaning against the bathroom doorway, watching Liam over the rim of his glass as he sips at his water. He's been giving Liam space recently, which means that instead of touching Liam, he does a lot of intense staring. It's almost worse.

“Your dad won't let me anywhere near his tools. Says I'm a hazard,” Harry explains, scratching at his stomach. The movement makes his shirt drag up a bit, showing off a slice of skin. Liam breaks the tile he'd been trying to carefully remove clean in half.

“Can you go be a hazard somewhere else, then? You're distracting me,” Liam says. Then he registers what he just said, and quickly adds, “I mean, um. Like, I'm trying to concentrate, and you won't stop talking.” It's not strictly true, but it sounds reasonable enough.

“Sorry,” Harry says, not sounding very sorry at all. “I'll just stand here and be quiet instead.”

Liam just grunts, because it would be rude to say what he's actually thinking.

Harry keeps his promise for like half a second before he starts noisily slurping at his drink, which is the opposite of being quiet.

“Harry,” Liam sighs, sitting back on his heels. “Do you have to do that so _loudly_.” It's honestly sort of a gross noise, but Harry's using his mouth to make it, so of course Liam's dick is interested. Maybe once the bathroom is fixed, Liam can just go ahead and drown himself in the brand new shower. At this point, it seems like a perfectly reasonable solution.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist, Harry opens his mouth to say something, but his mum beats him to the punch.

“Boys! Lunch!” Anne calls from the kitchen. Liam pushes to his feet, and Harry gestures down the hall, grinning crookedly.

“After you, Liam.”

-

Anne's made lemonade and the little sandwiches Liam loves. Sliding a plate in front of Liam, she says, “We really appreciate all your hard work in the bathroom, sweetheart.”

“Hey,” Harry says with a pout. “What about me? I'd work hard, if you'd let me.”

Ruffling his hair, Anne presses a kiss to the crown of his head before settling into the chair beside him. “Credit where credit's due, love.”

“Thank you, Anne,” Liam says politely, after he's chewed and swallowed a bite of sandwich. “These are delicious.”

Anne beams at him, and she looks so much like her son that Liam has to drop his gaze to his plate, poking at his sandwiches.

He startles when something bumps his ankle beneath the table. Automatically, he glances at Harry, but he appears to be innocently nibbling at his own little sandwich. His expression doesn't flicker as what Liam suspects is his socked foot snakes its way up Liam's leg.

“Geoff and I are going to head to the hardware store after lunch to look at tiles for the shower, make a day of it,” Anne continues, oblivious to what's unfolding underneath the table. Liam shifts his foot away, and the corner of Harry's mouth turns down.

“We'll leave you boys some money for dinner so you can order something, all right?” She smiles at Liam with the same warmth as she'd give Harry. “It's so nice today, I don't want you inside slaving away in the bathroom, Liam. Take a break from the hard work this afternoon, won't you?”

“Oh, but – I'm almost done, and I don't mind, it's--”

Reaching across the table, Anne squeezes his arm. She's as much of a force of nature as Harry is. “Go outside, enjoy yourself. That's an order!” She laughs. “Harry, make sure he does something fun this afternoon, will you? Get him out in the sun.”

Harry's slow grin makes Liam's stomach flip. “'Course, Mum.”

-

As soon as the door shuts behind Anne and his dad, Liam whirls to face Harry. “Look, I know what your mum said, but--”

“Fancy a kickabout?” Harry raises one brow. “I'm shit at FIFA, but I guarantee I can kick your arse on the pitch.”

Liam snorts. “That's doubtful.” The words slip out before he can stop them.

“Oh?” Harry says, sounding delighted. “Are you talking shit, Liam? Hope you can back it up, because I'm about to wipe the floor with you.”

It's not a challenge Liam can resist. “You're on.”

Harry takes the time to change into a pair of athletic shorts that hit him mid-thigh before digging an old football out from the closet, tucking it under one arm before they let themselves out of the front door. He refuses to let Liam have it, and when he starts playing keepy-uppies, he manages to kick it across the street where it nearly gets stuck beneath a parked car.

“Yeah, you're a natural talent, aren't you?” Liam says, laughing as Harry lopes across the street to retrieve the ball. The laugh dies in his throat as Harry drops fluidly to his knees, arse in the air as he leans his weight on his elbows, groping with one hand to reach the ball. His shorts cling to every curve, and Liam breaks out into a cold sweat.

“Laugh all you want,” Harry says, voice a bit muffled from beneath a car. He emerges triumphantly a moment later, footie in hand. “Ha! Got it.” Grinning up at Liam, he pushes his fringe back off his forehead. His cheeks are flushed a pretty pink. “I'm still gonna kick your arse.”

Liam swallows with a suddenly dry throat. “We'll see about that,” he manages.

-

It comes as no surprise to Liam that Harry is, in fact, awful at football. He spends more time tripping over his own feet than anything else, and his knees are covered in grass stains in almost no time. What he lacks in skill, he does make up for in enthusiasm, if enthusiasm can be defined as fouling Liam every chance he gets.

“That's, like, your seventh red card,” Liam complains. He'd have cleat-marks dotting his calves, had Harry been wearing them.

Completely unrepentant, Harry grins down at him. “Take it up with the refs,” he says, and offers Liam a hand. “Not my problem you can't handle a little bit of aggressive play.”

Clasping Harry's sweat-slick hand, Liam lets himself be pulled to his feet. “A _little bit_ of aggressive play? You've spent more time tackling me than you've spent trying to score!”

Harry just shakes his head. “The best offense is a good defense. Everyone knows that, Liam.”

Raising one eyebrow, Liam dribbles the ball just out of Harry's reach. “Really? Then why am I beating you six-nil?”

“Just lulling you into a false sense of security. I play the long game, Liam. Try to keep up.”

He doesn't manage to score, but he does get Liam on his back again, hitting the grass hard enough to knock the air from his lungs.

“Hey, are you all right? Liam?” Eyebrows creased in worry, Harry runs one hand up and down Liam's sweaty side, touch lingering.

With a cough, Liam gasps, “'m fine. Just give me a mo'.” It takes a minute before he can sit up, and Harry settles back on his haunches, still hovering too close. “I'm fine,” Liam repeats once he gets his breath back. “Just knocked the air outta me.”

It's only then that he realizes Harry's hand has fallen to his thigh, his palm a heavy, hot weight against Liam's skin. Clearing his throat, Liam pushes to his feet. “Let's head back home, okay? I'm knackered.”

If Harry feels bad, he shakes it off quickly. By the time they make it back to the house, Harry's crowding against Liam's back as he tries to slot his key into the lock, his hot breath ghosting across Liam's sweat-covered skin, making him shiver. “Have you heard of personal space,” Liam bites out, finally slipping the key in and turning the knob.

“But you're so fun to wind up,” Harry says, hand darting around to tweak Liam's nipple, slipping through the door with a cackling laugh before Liam can retaliate.

“I call the first shower!” Harry yells from inside the house, and Liam runs after him.

“If you want it, you're going to have to fight for it,” he shouts back, thundering up the stairs half a step behind Harry. Laughing breathlessly, Harry grabs the door frame to swing himself through the door of his dad and Anne's room, feet skidding over the hardwood as he goes for the ensuite bathroom with the only working shower in the house.

Liam catches him just as he reaches it, managing to block Harry from slamming the door shut in his face. Harry's cheeks are flushed red with exertion as he pushes against the door with everything he's got, but the way he keeps breaking into peals of wheezing laughter gives Liam the advantage.

“No, no, no,” he gasps. “I called it, Liam. I called it!”

“I'll save you some hot water,” Liam promises, bracing his shoulder against the door and shoving forward. “I'm not a monster.”

“Wait,” Harry says, easing up on his pressure on the door. Liam stumbles inside, and Harry leans back against the wall, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. “Look, Liam. This shower's massive.”

It really is. There are two shower heads, and a tiled bench along the back wall that's so long four people could fit easily, side by side. A wedding gift to themselves, Liam's dad had called it, when they'd upgraded the space shortly after he'd gotten engaged to Harry's mum. It's straight out of one of those fancy home and garden magazines.

“You'll get your turn,” Liam says, trying to calculate how difficult it's going to be to wrestle Harry out the door. Probably very, but there's plenty of adrenaline still coursing through Liam's veins. He likes his odds.

“No, that's what I'm _saying_ ,” Harry says, pushing his fringe off his forehead. His cheeks are very red. “We don't need to take turns. It's big enough for the both of us, innit?”

There's a rush of white noise in Liam's head. “D'you mean, like.” He swallows, and the words feel heavy on his tongue. “You want us to _share_?”

Harry shrugs one shoulder, the movement weirdly graceful. “What? It's like a locker room. Not that weird, Liam.” He doesn't wait for Liam to respond, instead reaching to pull his shirt over his head and tossing it carelessly to the floor. He's reaching for his shorts when Liam's brain catches up, heart hammering against his ribcage hard enough to bruise.

“Wait,” Liam says, grabbing Harry's wrist to still him. It's a mistake, he realizes almost immediately, because he can feel the wild beat of Harry's pulse beneath his fingertips, his skin warm and a little damp with sweat. Liam drops it like he's been burned.

Harry just looks at him, the corners of his mouth turned up the slightest bit, his bright eyes unreadable. “It's just a shower. Look, I'll even keep my back to you, all right?”

He doesn't wait for Liam to respond before he finishes stripping off, dropping his shorts and his pants onto the tiled floor. Liam averts his gaze as Harry reaches for the shower knobs, water spilling down like a rainfall, drumming against the tile.

Liam should leave. He should march right out the door, wait for Harry to finish before he takes his turn to wash off the sweat and grass stains. Harry looks up to him, Anne said. If he knew the kind of thoughts that were racing through Liam's head right now, he'd never look at Liam again.

Sticking a hand out to test the temperature first, Harry slips through the glass shower door and steps under the spray. It drenches him immediately, his hair turning a slick, dark brown as the water plasters it against his head.

Mouth dry, it takes Liam a few tries to remember how to swallow. Harry keeps his word, standing with his face directly under the spray of water and his back to Liam. His hair looks even longer wet, clinging to the back of his neck, a few longer strands reaching his broad shoulders. Liam watches as rivulets of water track their way down Harry's spine, then hastily looks at the ceiling to keep himself from staring at Harry's arse.

“You gonna stand there and enjoy the show, or are you gonna come in?” Harry asks, still facing away from Liam. He sounds amused, and Liam's sure he's grinning. “There's a perfectly good showerhead on the other side, if you'd quit being weird about this.”

“I'm not the one being weird,” Liam says, even though it's really fucking weird, watching your step-brother shower. There's no graceful exit in sight, and if Liam doesn't think too hard about it, Harry's sort of right. It's just like a locker room, really. All he has to do is get in, rinse off, get out. No harm, no foul.

Taking a deep breath, Liam tugs his shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor before shoving his shorts down, stepping free of the material as it tries to catch around his ankles. He steps into the shower, eyes on his feet, and reaches for the shower knob opposite Harry's. The water comes out cold at first, absolutely fucking _freezing_ , but Liam grits his teeth so they don't chatter and steps directly under the spray.

As the water slowly heats up, Liam's muscles start to relax incrementally. He's careful to keep his eyes fixed on the shower wall, following the line of grout between tiles like it's some kind of ancient rune he can decode if he just stares at it hard enough. Behind him, Harry seems to be enjoying himself, if his little sighs and groans are anything to go by. He's never done anything quiet in his life, not even sleep – it would be too much to hope for that he could shower in silence, Liam thinks morosely.

Whatever, though. Liam's coping. The grout hasn't spilled its secrets yet, and it's much better to stare at that than to think about the fact that Harry is standing only a few feet away, wet and naked, and that Liam is now equally wet and naked. No, that line of thought doesn't lead anywhere good at all. Grinding his teeth, Liam stares at the grout hard enough that his vision goes fuzzy. He's so busy concentrating that when Harry's arm grazes his side, Liam leaps about a foot, nearly slipping before he steadies himself with a palm against the wall.

“What the hell,” he gasps, heart jackrabbiting in his throat.

“Sorry,” Harry says, retracting his arm, and his voice is _way_ too close to Liam's ear. “Needed the shampoo.”

Liam grabs it from the shelf on his side of the shower, holding it up for Harry to take without turning around. It seems unnecessary for Harry's fingers to brush his, or for his hand to linger for so long, but Harry just huffs out a quiet little laugh and says, “so _slippery_!” before finally taking the shampoo and retreating.

Breathing is about the only thing Liam can handle right now, and even that is a challenge. Eyes slipping shut, he sucks in a lungful of air, counting to five before releasing it. Oblivious to Liam's suffering, Harry squeezes the bottle of shampoo with enough force that it squelches loudly.

“God,” Harry sighs, and Liam can't see what he's doing, his eyes still firmly shut, but he uses his god damn context clues like a champ to guess that Harry is lathering his hair up with shampoo. “I was _filthy_. Liam, you had any luck with the grass stains? Mine won't come out.”

Liam had forgotten about the grass stains, in all honesty. He was focused on more important things, like not dying naked in a shower while his step-brother washes the grease from his hair.

“Have you. Tried. Soap?” he manages to get out, the words only slightly strangled.

“ _Obviously_ ,” Harry says. “Need to scrub harder, I guess. At least I got all the dirt off. Hey, did I miss any spots? Like on my back?”

“Um,” Liam says.

“Just – oh, for god's sake, Liam. I know you've seen blokes starkers before. It won't kill you to look at me for a second, and make sure I got all the dirt.”

While Harry is technically right, Liam has also never been naked in the shower _next_ to the other blokes he's seen starkers, and he definitely wasn't hard. This seems like a crucial bit of information to keep from Harry, so Liam half-turns at the waist, glancing at Harry over one shoulder in case Harry's looking back at him.

Harry is looking back at him. In fact, Harry is _facing_ him. Liam can't help the way his eyes track down Harry's body, tracing the lines of his abs and the deep V of his hips, the hard shape of his--

Liam squeezes his eyes shut again. “Jesus Christ, Harry.”

Unbelievably, Harry laughs. “Relax, Liam. It's a natural reaction to adrenaline. I'm turning around, all right? Check for dirt!”

Liam cracks one eye open with caution, but thankfully Harry's followed through on his promise, his back to Liam. Keeping his gaze firmly above Harry's waist, Liam gives him a quick once-over. “You're fine. Clean, I mean. No dirt.”

“Now let me check you,” Harry says, and Liam sputters, shaking his head.

“That's not really--”

“Hold up. You missed a spot, Liam,” Harry interrupts, and reaches his hand out to touch Liam's neck, just below his Adam's apple. “You've got something – just – _there,_ ” he says, rubbing his thumb over the spot.

Liam is still twisted around, his hips turned away from Harry, and his neck craned to look back over his shoulder. He grabs Harry's wrist, tugging his hand away. “It's a birthmark,” he says, pushing the words out weakly.

“Huh,” is all Harry says, still studying the spot and biting his lower lip. He doesn't test Liam's grip, and Liam eventually drops his wrist, feeling stupid.

“We should – the water'll get cold,” Liam says, grasping for an excuse. He stares at a drop of water that's slowly trailing down Harry's cheekbone, then gets distracted by the way Harry's lashes are clumped together, making his stupid bug eyes look somehow bigger.

“Yeah,” Harry says, barely audible, but he doesn't move.

Liam licks his lips and Harry's eyes drop to his mouth, which wasn't even – Liam swallows thickly.

“Boys, we're home!” a shout from downstairs interrupts. It's Anne. Harry's eyes widen. “Harry? Liam? Come help carry the tiles in!” she adds, voice carrying despite the water pounding down around them.

As if they'd rehearsed it, Liam and Harry turn off their respective shower knobs and scramble out. Liam grabs their dirty clothes while Harry raids the linen cupboard, pulling out a pair of white fluffy towels. He tosses one to Liam and tips his chin towards the door. Wrapping the towel around his waist and holding it in place with one hand, Liam sneaks his way down the hall and slips into his room, where he hastily throws on some clean clothes.

There's a knock on his door a moment later, and he swings it open, rubbing the towel over his damp hair. “I'll be down in a minute to help, Anne. I was just getting dressed. Harry's, um. He's just finishing showering, I think. We had a kickabout, and, uh, wanted to get cleaned off.”

It takes everything he has not to wince at his own awkwardness, but Anne just gives him a warm smile, squeezing his shoulder. “Thanks, Liam.”

He smiles back, trying not to think about the panicked look in Harry's eye when they almost got caught.

-

Liam makes a pointed effort not to be alone in the same room with Harry over the next few days, going as far as sleeping on the sofa in the living room. When his dad catches him the second morning, Liam makes some excuse about the heat, and how “the loft is too high for a fan, but it's fine, really, I don't mind sleeping out here.”

His dad just sort of grunts at him and wanders out of the room, which could mean anything, really. When he comes back a few hours later with a little metal fan and spends the better part of an hour fixing it to the wooden slat at the head of Liam's bed, Liam figures he meant he'd take care of it.

His best excuse ripped rudely from his fingertips, Liam opts to put off going to bed, starting his workout routine just as the sun's beginning to set. He does crunches out in the back garden until he's dripping with sweat and breathing hard, then switches to push ups until his arms start to shake.

“Looks like quite the workout,” Harry comments when Liam finally takes a break, rolling onto his back and starfishing his limbs. Liam narrows his eyes at him. He hadn't even heard Harry walk up. It's fully dark now, but the patio light is as bright as a camera flash, highlighting Harry's cheekbones and the ridge of his nose. It highlights his mouth, too, and Liam thinks it's a trick of the light, at first, how red it is, until he sees the cherry ice lolly in Harry's hand. Without breaking eye contact with Liam, Harry slides the ice lolly past his lips, and keeps going until his fingers bump his mouth.

“I need to take a shower,” Liam announces, and pushes to his feet with a wince. He doesn't look back, shoulder bumping Harry's in his haste to get away.

-

When his eyes droop with exhaustion, and he's been in the shower so long that the water's gone cold, Liam finally admits defeat and crawls into bed. He turns the fan on full blast and settles himself on his side, facing the wall. Harry's still up, of course, going through his usual bedtime routine with agonizing slowness.

Liam's half asleep by the time Harry finally flops onto his mattress. Liam rolls onto his back, the air still uncomfortably humid despite the fan chugging away, and hears an answering groan from Harry's mattress springs beneath him. Kicking the duvet off his legs, Liam flips his pillow over, pressing the cool side to his hot cheek.

Unlike Liam, Harry doesn't usually toss and turn; he falls asleep like someone's flipped a switch, awake one second and snoring loudly the next. Tonight is different, though. Harry's mattress keeps creaking, like he can't get comfortable, no matter how many times he shifts positions. It keeps Liam up, fidgeting nearly as badly as Harry is. The fan is loud in Liam's ear as the minutes stretch on, but not loud enough to cover up the sound Harry's of open-mouthed breathing, or the way it hitches when he starts to gasp.

Liam strains, trying it figure out what Harry's doing, but all he can hear is the way Harry's panting breath gets more and more erratic.

He cottons on around the same time that he hears the first wet squelch, the rhythm choppy at first before settling into a fast, rough pace. It's _loud_ , the slick slide of skin against skin, the creaking mattress, the bitten off little groans Harry does nothing to muffle.

Liam's face is suddenly on fire and his skin is coated in sweat. He covers his mouth with his palm, going a bit light-headed as he tries to suck in air quietly through his nose. If he can hear Harry, then Harry can definitely hear him. Liam doesn't know what's more mortifying: listening to Harry wank off, or Harry knowing that Liam's listening to him wank off.

Harry's rhythm speeds up, until he sounds like a porn soundtrack; all wet, slick noises and these breathy little _ah ah ahs_ that make heat pool in Liam's gut. He's got to be close, and sure enough, his hand suddenly stills, the silence as loud as a shot in the dark. Then Harry makes this _noise_ , this choked off little whimper, and it sounds like – fuck, it sounds like Liam's name.

Liam grabs for his sheets, fisting the fabric with the last shred of his self-control, but he still can't help the loud gasp that escapes. Harry's panting heavily beneath him, and Liam has no idea what to do, other than pretend to be asleep until this nightmare ends.

“Enjoying the show, Liam?” Harry says after a minute, and his voice is absolutely wrecked. When Liam doesn't immediately respond, Harry kicks at the bottom of Liam's mattress. “Don't be an arse. I know you're awake. I can hear you breathing.”

Liam's damp with sweat and so hard it _hurts_. “If you knew I was awake,” he finally says, proud of the way he keeps his voice from trembling, “then why the fuck did you just... _do_ that?”

“Because,” Harry nearly growls _,_ and god, that does something to Liam, “I'm not the only one who wants this. You want me too, Liam. You just won't admit it.”

Liam's heart is beating so fast it feels like he's just run a marathon.

“Because we're _brothers_ ,” he hisses.

“Step-brothers,” Harry corrects. “That's not the same thing at all.”

“Harry...” Liam doesn't know what to say. He's never wanted to touch his dick so badly in his life, and the hot feeling of shame in his gut is only making it worse. Gritting his teeth, he curls his fists tighter, clinging to the sheets like a lifeline.

He can't see what Harry's doing, but he can hear when Harry's mattress springs squeak out a protest as he rolls out of bed, the creak of his footsteps on the old wooden floorboards. The loft groans under Harry's weight as he climbs the ladder at the foot of Liam's bed, and Liam can just make out the outline of his head as he reaches the top, Harry's hair a wild silhouette, the whites of his eyes barely visible in the dark.

“What are you doing? _Harry_ \--”

“Shh,” Harry shushes, crawling up the mattress until he's stretched out next to Liam. He's naked, his bare skin a pale blur with nothing but the moon and Liam's stick-on stars to light the room. “We're having this conversation face to face, Liam.”

“Why? It's too dark to see anything, anyway,” Liam points out, stoically ignoring the leg Harry's threaded between his, their bare knees knocking together. He's still frozen in place, his fingers aching, but he doesn't loosen his grip.

“If you don't want to talk, I do have a Plan B,” Harry tells him, and he's so close to Liam that Liam can feel his warm breath tickling his cheek.

“Does your Plan B also require being face to face?” Liam asks, because he's about two seconds away from pushing Harry out of his bunk and locking himself in the bathroom to wank himself raw.

“Yeah.” And before Liam can ask why, Harry's cupping Liam's cheek with one hand, ducking his head until their mouths are nearly brushing. “You want this too,” Harry whispers. His hand is trembling. “Please, Liam. Tell me you want this too.”

“God, Harry,” Liam groans, and then he's finally releasing the sheets, one hand tangling itself in Harry's soft hair, and the other tracing down the knobs of his spine. He crushes their mouths together, swallowing the guttural noise Harry makes, like it's been punched out of him.

Harry shifts, draping his weight over Liam, and Liam can feel the way he's already hard again. His hips rutting shallowly against Liam's, Harry takes the time to kiss him deeply, licking into Liam's mouth, fingertips tracing along Liam's jawline, over the curve of his cheek. Liam has a year on Harry, but he must've wasted it, because everything Harry does is loaded with intention, every touch designed to drive Liam mad.

It's not until Harry murmurs, “It's okay, Liam, it's okay, I got you, I got you,” that Liam realizes he's actually trembling. He wraps one arm around Harry's neck, pulling him close so he can suck a mark into Harry's skin. Harry returns the favor by shifting his weight again until he can fit his arm between them, pushing Liam's pants down far enough that he can wrap one hand around both of their cocks and wank them with a sweat-slick palm. It's quick and dirty, Liam's groans muffled into Harry's shoulder, teeth set against Harry's skin. Liam comes with a buck of his hips wild enough to make the loft rock alarmingly. Harry follows not long after, whimpering like it hurts.

He buries his face in Liam's neck, after, breathing hard and sprawled half over Liam, one of his hips wedged between Liam's side and the wall. Both their stomachs, and Harry's hand, are sticky with sweat and come, cooling quickly in the breeze from Liam's fan.

“Give me a sec for my legs to work again, and I'll get you a tissue,” Liam promises, still trying to get his own breathing back under control. Now that he's come, the guilt is creeping back in, but Liam pushes it down, pushes it deep.

“S'fine,” Harry says, and lifts his hand to his face, licking a stripe up his palm.

Liam's jaw drops. “You're unbelievable.”

Grinning, Harry keeps tonguing at his palm, working his way up each finger, pink tongue flashing, until he's cleaned his entire hand. “You should eat more fruit,” he tells Liam once he's finished, eyes glittering in the dark.

“Unbelievable,” Liam repeats, shaking his head. He's coming down fast from the high of having Harry in his bed, of having Harry's hands on him, and the guilt presses down harder than the hand Harry slides over Liam's chest, like he can calm Liam's racing heart with just a touch.

“Let's get you out of these clothes,” Harry says, a smile in his voice. He tugs at Liam's waistband, where his pants are still caught around the tops of his thighs, cutting into his skin. Liam lifts his hips just enough for Harry to work the fabric down, and Harry makes such a production of sliding it down Liam's legs that his dick twitches in interest again.

“Harry,” Liam says. Harry doesn't answer, just uses Liam's balled up pants to start scrubbing at the mess on Liam's stomach, deliberately brushing against his dick.

“Harry,” Liam says again, and carefully sits up, dislodging Harry's hand. Liam's head brushes the ceiling so he has to hunch a bit, and Harry rolls onto his side, finally tossing the ruined pants to the floor looking up at him with sleepy eyes.

“What? I'm tired. Let's just go to sleep. Whatever freak out you're about to have can wait til morning, can't it?”

Liam shakes his head. “That's just it. We can't wait until morning – what if our parents walk in and catch us?”

Harry grins, white teeth flashing in the dark. “They probably won't let us share a room anymore.”

“Harry, I'm being serious. We can't – we can't _do_ this.” Liam can't do this, can't take advantage of Harry like this, let Harry talk his way into Liam's bed when Liam's meant to be the responsible one, the one who knows better.

“We just did,” Harry points out. He stretches like a cat, and it distracts Liam for a second, trying to drink in the entire long line of Harry's body at once. Liam shakes himself.

“I meant we can't do this again. This is--”

“Liam.” Grabbing his forearm, Harry tugs hard, pulling Liam down with enough force that he bounces a little when he hits the mattress. “Can we just enjoy one night without worrying about everything that could go wrong? It's like, 3am. Our parents are asleep. It's just us.”

“One night,” Liam repeats with hesitation. Harry doesn't give him a chance to say no, burrowing into Liam's side, arm wrapped around Liam's chest to keep him from slipping away.

It's too hot, but Harry doesn't seem to mind, tucking his head beneath Liam's chin with a contented sigh. “You'll be going back to Manchester at the end of the summer anyway, and I'll be going to uni overseas, probably. So don't freak out, okay? There was always gonna be an expiration date. This is just a little... summer fling.”

“Most people don't have summer flings with their step-brothers,” Liam points out.

Liam probably imagines that he can feel the way Harry's cheek creases with a smile. “We can't help that we're kinky, Liam. I won't be shamed in my own home. Now be quiet. I'm trying to sleep.”

Liam doesn't think he'll be able to, between his racing thoughts and Harry's octopus limbs suffocating him like a human blanket, but somehow he manages to drift off, his fingers still tangled in Harry's hair.

-

Five miles into his run, Liam accepts that he can't outpace the dread that sits in his stomach like a stone. It slows him down, each step dragging, heavier than the last. He feels like that Christmas guy with the ghosts, only instead of being a miser with stacks of gold coins, he's stolen Harry's innocence, which is so much worse. Not even Tiny Tim would forgive Liam.

Or, well. It was clear last night that Harry wasn't exactly _innocent_ , but still. Liam had always wanted a little brother, and he finally got one when Harry's mum said, “I do.” Instead of looking out for him like a big brother should, though, Liam let Harry crawl into his bed and wank him off.

Maybe Liam would be a better person if some ghosts did come to haunt him. But then one of them would have to show Liam his terrible past, and Liam would probably just get hard, because god help him, he still can't think about Harry's mouth, or Harry's hands, or the way Harry looked, braced over Liam and breathing hard--

Liam has to pull up short, pretending to rest with one hand propped against a tree, because he's wearing jogging shorts and he's in public and he's a _terrible, awful person_.

It's a long time before Liam makes it home, muscles screaming and dripping with sweat. He heads straight to the shower and turns the water to cold, then warm when he can't take it anymore, and by the time he comes out, skin wrinkled, Harry's no longer stretched out naked in Liam's bed like one of those fancy Renaissance paintings to remind Liam of his sins.

Harry's not in the house at all, actually.

Pulling on a shirt and some shorts, Liam tries not to read into it.

-

Harry's not back in time for dinner, and Liam has to bite his tongue five different times to keep himself from asking Anne where he went. It's normally the kind of information she'd give unprompted – Anne's a terrible gossip, and her kids are her favorite subject – but all she wants to talk about at dinner is the tile work in the bathroom and Liam's dad's thoughts on a matching towel set.

Liam picks at his food, building a crooked green bean log cabin. He loves green beans, but he's pretty sure he traded his appetite in last night for an ulcer.

“I deserve it,” he mutters to himself as the west wall of his cabin crumbles, green beans spilling into his uneaten potatoes.

“What was that?” his dad asks, glancing over. “Liam, you haven't touched your food.”

“I'm feeling poorly,” Liam says quickly. “May I be excused?”

Anne reaches over to feel Liam's forehead with the back of her hand, and he feels his face heat up. “Of course, love,” she says. “It's this awful heat, isn't it? Have a glass of water, make sure you don't get dehydrated. You've been pushing yourself so hard.”

Liam says what are probably words and takes his plate to the sink, obediently pouring himself a glass of water before retreating to his room.

He stares at the ceiling for a long time, counting the stuck-on stars over and over, but Harry never comes.

-

It's the thump that pulls Liam from his dreams, jarring enough that he cracks his eyes open.

“Oops,” Harry says, a giggling laugh barely muffled. “Sorry, sorry.”

There's a few more bangs and bumps, like Harry's lost control of his limbs in their cramped room, and more laughter and apologies. Liam doesn't respond, letting his eyes shut and focusing on keeping his breathing quiet and shallow.

Harry's not fooled. The loft creaks as he climbs, and then his warm weight sinks next to Liam, his long fingers brushing at Liam's fringe back from his forehead with more tenderness than Liam would have expected from him.

“Liam. Liam, you awake?”

Liam can smell the beer on his breath. He doesn't open his eyes. “Go t'bed, Haz. It's late.”

“Liam,” Harry says, barely louder than a sigh. Then he's pressing his mouth to Liam's jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. Liam stops him before he can keep going, one hand pressed to Harry's chest to keep him away.

“No, Harry. You're drunk.”

“'m tipsy,” Harry counters. “And I know what I want.”

He leans in, but Liam doesn't budge. “You were gone all day,” he says, pushing against Harry's chest. Harry changes tactics, wrapping his fingers around Liam's wrist. He doesn't shove Liam's hand away like Liam expects, but drags it up instead, until he can press an open-mouthed kiss to the center of Liam's palm. He kisses his way up Liam's fingers, and Liam stupidly lets him, too transfixed to pull away. Harry catches his eye for a moment, then wraps his lips around two of Liam's fingers, sucking on them sloppily.

“Jesus Christ,” Liam says as Harry presses Liam's fingers in deep. “Harry, what are you _doing_?”

Harry releases his fingers with a wet noise that makes Liam swallow heavily. “I'm not drunk,” Harry says. “I know what I'm doing.”

Liam's pulse jumps in his throat. “You can't just – you can't just not talk to me all day, then show up here and do _that_ , and think that I'll--”

“Oh, was I the one not talking to you?” Harry says, and his voice is like gravel, just from Liam's fingers. “You were the one who disappeared before I even woke up. Thought you wanted some space.”

“I--” Liam starts to say, but can't think of a single word to follow.

“I tried, I really did.” Harry still has his fingers wrapped around Liam's wrist, his grip firm enough that Liam couldn't pull away without a fight. Liam doesn't think he has a fight left in him. “I tried to give you space. I just can't stay away from you, Liam. I'll be your dirty little secret, if you want. Just tell me what you want.”

“I don't-- _Harry_ ,” Liam says, desperate. He doesn't know what he wants, or how to ask for it if he did.

“Okay, okay, let's try this.” Voice barely more than a whisper, Harry says, “I'll tell you want I want, okay? I want to kiss you, Liam. Can I kiss you? I just need to – your _mouth_ , Liam, I--”

Liam's not sure who kisses who, just that he never finds out what Harry was going to say, because Harry's mouth is against his, the slick slide of his tongue distracting Liam, his fingers cupping the back of Liam's neck to pull him close.

“I want,” Harry says sometime later, when Liam's forgotten anything that isn't the taste of Harry's mouth, or the feeling of Harry's fingers running through his hair, “I want – Liam, can I suck you off?”

Liam should say no. He should push Harry away, push Harry out of his bed, set a good example. Instead he lets Harry kiss him again, sucking on his tongue as one of his hands dips lower, finding the outline of Liam's hard cock through his pants. Swallowing Liam's whine, Harry starts kissing his way down Liam's neck, stopping to scrape his teeth over Liam's birthmark, to suck a bruise into the hollow of Liam's collarbone.

Harry works his way down Liam's chest, and Liam lets him, breathing raggedly as he watches Harry bite at his hip, fingers teasing at the waistband of his boxers.

“Harry, _please_ ,” he begs, and Harry grins up at him, mouth swollen and red. He doesn't stop teasing, but he does press his parted lips to Liam's cock, mouthing at it until the fabric of his pants is damp and Liam can't stop his hips from jerking.

“Harry,” he pleads, and Harry finally relents, tugging Liam's pants down. He licks a stripe up Liam's dick, just to be an arse, Liam's sure, but before Liam can say anything, Harry is wrapping his lips around the head of Liam's dick, the wet heat of his mouth making Liam gasp.

Harry swallows him down without hesitation, until Liam's dick bumps the back of his throat. He has to hold Liam's hips down with his forearms because Liam can't help thrusting into his mouth, babbling apologies and curses, biting at his lip to keep quiet.

“Liam, look at me,” Harry says, hoarse like every word scraped his throat on the way out. Liam hadn't realized he'd let his eyes slip shut, and opens them blearily, blinking down at Harry. Harry's lips are wet, tendrils of damp hair clinging to his face, and it's too dark to make out the color of his eyes, but Liam knows they're a clear green.

Harry doesn't look away as he tongues at Liam's slit, holds Liam's eye with intense concentration as he slides Liam's cock down his throat again, lips stretched wide. It takes a few more bobs of his head, visible tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, before Liam comes without warning, spilling into Harry's mouth, hips bucking helplessly. Harry swallows it without hesitating, catching a bit caught at the edge of his mouth with his thumb, and sucking that clean, too.

Liam means to help, but his limbs feel useless and he can't do much more than watch as Harry crawls up his body, straddling Liam's hips and wanking himself furiously. He has to hunch over Liam to keep from bumping the ceiling, and Liam reaches up to thread his fingers through Harry's sweat-damp hair, tugging him down until their mouths bump. Liam sucks at Harry's lower lip, tongue darting out tentatively, tasting himself on Harry's tongue.

Groaning into Liam's mouth, Harry braces his free hand on the mattress next to Liam's head. The wet sounds of his hand on his cock are familiar, but this time Harry's above him, close enough for Liam to touch, for Liam to taste.

“You close? God, Harry. You're so – are you going to come like this? I want you to. I want you to come, just like this, babe,” Liam says, breathing the words out between kisses, chin tilted up to reach Harry's mouth.

“Fuck,” Harry gasps, and Liam feels it when he comes, the loft shuddering, the warm spill of Harry's come on his stomach. Harry collapses on top of him, chest heaving, and Liam brushes his sweaty fringe from his face and presses a quick kiss to his temple, burying the guilt deep, deep, deep.

-

Like a bad case of déjà vu, Liam wakes up sweaty and uncomfortable, Harry's limbs tangled up with his, snoring loudly in Liam's ear. Extracting himself carefully, Liam slips across the hall to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face and wiping the worst of the mess from his stomach with a grimace. He pulls a clean shirt over his head before padding down the hall, stomach growling. Guilt's not enough to fill his appetite anymore, though it still makes his gut churn.

When Liam enters the kitchen, Anne's already there, sipping at a cup of coffee at the breakfast bar.

“Good morning, Liam,” she says. “Is Harry up?”

Liam freezes for a second before plastering what's probably a very stiff smile onto his face. He and Harry share a room, for god's sake. It's a normal question for Anne to ask.

“Uh, not yet. He was still snoring pretty loudly when I got up.” It's not a lie. Liam tries to remember to breathe like a normal person.

Anne laughs. “It's awful, isn't it? Listen, I need to run some errands, but whenever Sleeping Beauty wakes up, make sure he gets this, won't you?” She slides a thick manilla envelope across the table towards Liam.

“Of course,” Liam says, eyeing the envelope with curiosity. “Something important?”

Rinsing her mug in the sink, Anne says, “I hope so. I think it's the reply he's been waiting on from the University of Manchester. It's fairly thick – that usually means you're accepted, doesn't it?”

Liam's mouth goes dry. “He applied at Manchester?”

Anne sets her clean mug in the dish rack to dry. She's tidy, just like her son. “He didn't tell you? Maybe he wanted it to be a surprise. He really does look up to you, Liam. You've been such a great big brother to him.”

Luckily Anne doesn't seem to notice that Liam's too stunned to formulate a reply, because she just presses a kiss to the crown of his head, like she would for Harry. “Have a good day, love. Tell him to call me if he really got in!”

She's out the door before Liam can respond. Leaving the envelope on the table, Liam robotically fixes himself a bowl of cereal. He doesn't pay attention to what he's pouring into the bowl, but it doesn't really matter, because every bite is as tasteless as the last.

He's down to just milk and a few soggy bits when Harry stumbles into the kitchen, curls tangled around his face and eyes still puffy with sleep. Something in his face relaxes when he sees Liam sitting there. Liam swallows against a sudden lump in his throat.

“Morning,” Harry says around a yawn, plopping himself in the chair across from Liam. “Is there tea?”

“You've got mail,” Liam says, pushing the envelope towards Harry with his fingertips. Harry grabs it, ripping it open without even looking to see who it's from. He pulls out a stack of papers, eyes scanning the first sheet, and about a thousand different emotions cross his face before his features settle on guilt.

Liam swirls his spoon around the cereal bowl, making a tiny milk hurricane. He's tired, suddenly. “I take it congratulations are in order?”

“I was going to tell you,” Harry says. “But I thought you'd be weird about it.”

Liam glances up. “You told me you were gonna go to some school overseas.”

“I still might,” Harry says, defensive. “I just haven't made my mind up for sure. Wanted to know all the options first.”

Milk spills over the rim of Liam's bowl. He lets the spoon drop. “So you lied to me, is what you're saying.”

“It wasn't – Liam, it wasn't like that. Look, I wasn't even seriously considering Manchester, I just--”

“Your mum said you were waiting on this response,” Liam interrupts. “She made it sound like you really wanted in.”

Harry falls silent. “I did,” he admits at last. “I thought – it's a good school, they have the programs I'm interested in. Was just kind of a bonus that you went there, too. Someone to, like, show me the ropes, or whatever.” He pauses, licking his lips. “But that was – look, that was before we started – whatever this is. You're so fucking--” he cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair.

“I'm so what?” Liam asks.

Harry's gaze is steely. “You're so _ridiculous_ ,” he says, and that is not what Liam was expecting. “It's not a big deal, us being step-brothers. You keep acting like it's some shameful secret--”

“Isn't it?”

Harry actually rolls his eyes. “No, Liam. We're consenting adults, we're not actually related, and you need to get over it.” He stands up, chair scraping back loud enough to make Liam flinch. “I meant what I said last night. I'll be your dirty little secret if that's what you really want, Liam. God help me, I'll take whatever you'll give me. I just don't think it's fair.”

Liam stares at him, mouth gaping. “I'm not asking you to-- to--”

“I know.” Harry sighs, deflating just like that. “That's the problem.” Scooping the stack of papers up, Harry tosses them in the bin. “Forget it. Just forget it, all right?”

He turns to walk out of the room, gets as far as the doorway before Liam's able to scramble up, skidding across the floor until he's close enough to grab Harry's wrist. Harry's never been the one to walk away, and Liam finds he doesn't like the feeling. Doesn't like the hurt he hears in Harry's voice, and knowing he was the one who caused it.

“Wait,” he says as Harry glances back, raising a brow at him. Harry doesn't pull free from his grip, so Liam plunges on. “I didn't mean to – fuck, Harry, I'm so sorry. It's just, like. Our parents expect me to look out for you, and instead I feel like – like I'm taking advantage of you.”

Harry glances up from Liam's fingers circling his wrist, eyes wide.

“Liam, you're not – oh, for fuck's sake. If anyone is taking advantage, it's me. _I'm_ the one who won't stop pushing _you_. I just, I've fancied you since I was 16, and then you come back from uni looking like _that--_ ” Liam looks down at himself in surprise, then back up at Harry, who's got this helpless little smile on his face.

“So, whatever,” Harry finishes. “You set a limit, and I'll respect it, okay? No need for two of us to get hurt.” He tugs his wrist, but Liam tightens his grip.

“Liam, what are you--” He doesn't get to finish his question before Liam's stepping into his space, slanting his mouth across Harry's. Harry switches from surprise to enthusiasm with remarkable speed, kissing Liam back right there in the middle of the kitchen.

“Has anyone seen my-- oh.”

Liam and Harry spring apart, staring at Anne with open mouthed shock. She stares back, gaze flicking between the two of them. “Oh,” she says again.

“Seen your what?” Harry asks after a moment, fixing a pleasant smile on his face. He also slips an arm around Liam's waist, pulling Liam into his side, like he's daring his mum to say something. Liam's probably going to pass out if he doesn't remember how to breathe soon.

“My sunglasses,” Anne says evenly. “I got halfway to the store before I realized I didn't have them.”

Liam's never heard that tone from her before, doesn't know how to interpret it. He clears his throat. “I think they're on the countertop by the fridge,” he says.

Anne glances over. “So they are. Thank you, Liam.” Stepping around them, she scoops her sunglasses up, slipping them on. She walks back towards the door, but stops in the doorway to turn back, peering at them over the rim of her glasses. “I'm not upset with either of you, I want you both to know that. But if this is going to be happening under my roof, we're all going to have a nice chat about practicing safe sex in the near future.”

Liam's face flames, and Harry's eyes widen in horror. “Mum, _no_.”

She just smiles at them, the same mischievous glint in her eyes that Liam's seen in Harry's. “Oh, yes. This is happening.” She's out the door before Liam can die a sudden, unexpected death and end his agony.

“Oh, god,” Harry croaks, turning to bury his face in Liam's neck. “You were right. Dirty little secret was better. I don't know what I was thinking.”

Liam wraps his arms around Harry, pressing his warm cheek to Harry's hair. “Maybe,” he says. He won't forget the look on Anne's face or the hot flush of embarrassment any time soon, but the guilt-shaped stone that sat heavily in his gut is gone.

“Maybe not,” he adds. It's not too late to fish Harry's acceptance letter from the bin.

It's just better to have all the options, really.

 

**Author's Note:**

> as always, comments/feedback welcome! you can also come say hi on [tumblr](http://www.moondoggiestyle.tumblr.com) :)


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